The Harad Assassin
by EvilPandaNinja
Summary: A Harad assassin. A wizard. A Dwarf. An Elf. A Steward. A King. Four Hobbits. Joined together, they comprise the Fellowship of the Ring. They must journey to Mount Doom, and see the destruction of the One Ring, in order for Sauron to be defeated.


As the horse moved stealthily beneath her, its hooves but a whisper on the crisp untrodden ground, she shivered, a chill running up her spine like ghostly fingers. Compared to her homeland, she was unaccustomed to the coolness. Fall had come late this year, but now it arrived in full force. Wind whipped through her sleek black hair, braided down her back, woven with her tribal designs.

She cursed herself mentally for not sparing enough time for her travel across the land. She had not taken into account the inconvenience of having to avoid Saruman's spies. They were everywhere, seeping throughout the land like poison. Searching the air and ground, they left no inch of Middle-Earth free, no stone left unturned. Soon, Sauron's power would be felt in all of Middle-Earth, and nothing could evade his malevolent and vicious grasp. A dark shadow ensnared minds, turning kinsmen against each other.

She exhaled heavily, weary of the war that had not yet begun. By entering this journey, she had disobeyed and betrayed the orders of her kind. She knew that once she began this journey, she could not return. All ties with her had been severed; she was as good as the enemy to them. Her heart ached painfully as she realised that she had no home anymore, no place to call her own. Not that it mattered much, she reminded herself. I never had family. Family or love. I don't need them, because, in the end, everybody leaves me. They always do.

Stop it! She chastised herself. Now was not the time for self-pity. She could grieve her loss later. While she had been wrapped up in her own thoughts, the track she had been following had joined with another, more recently used path. The tracks looked to be days old at most.

She urged her steed forward, hoping to make up as much time as possible. She could not afford to miss this meeting. Despite their insistence otherwise, the survival of her race (and all of Middle Earth) depended on her attendance at the council. Her need to be there was not questionable; it was imperative. They could not turn her away. If action was to be taken against the great evil of Sauron, they would need her help.

She drew over a grassy verge, which allowed her a better viewpoint, and took in the sight before her. Elrond's dominion was well hidden in the moorlands and foothills of the Misty Mountain, the narrow gorge of the Bruinen River running alongside it. It never failed to astound her with its simplicity and beauty. The entire city seemed to radiate light, as if glowing with some inner spirit. The more she approached the city, the more vivid the colours seemed. Waterfalls and streams crisscrossed in some complex pattern, dancing lithely, leaping and gliding on silk, delicately tracing down to the river below. Yet for her, the buildings were what truly stood out; the delicate arches and almost lacy construction bespoke elven architecture perfectly. These same wistfully elegant buildings were tastefully decorated with frothy tendrils of climbing flowers.

She quickly drew the hood of her black cloak over her head to avoid recognition. With the elves, you could never tell how far they could see, so it would be better to take more precautions than necessary than to have her identity revealed.

If any of the residents happened to glance down at that moment, they would have seen a cloaked rider upon a tan horse, racing across the stone bridge that spanned the seemingly infinite chasm below.

Her mysterious arrival drew the attention of many gazes, but they quickly shrugged it off. After all, their home had played host to many strangers in the past weeks - why should a lone rider merit any more consternation than a group of dwarves? The meticulously and painstakingly paved paths passed by her in a mere blur, such was the speed at which she travelled. She urged her steed on with every ounce of er being; in times like these, every second counted. She released a breath of relief when the gathering grew near. Finally, she dismounted from the horse a short distance from the council in such a fluid motion, even the elves would envy her. She quickly rubbed down her thighs in a futile attempt to rid her muscles of the aches caused by weeks in the saddle. Abandoning that plan, she squared her shoulders and secured her cloak. It was time.

Marching forward, she observed a small childlike creature in a bush, eavesdropping. How curious, she thought, a halfling. Surely they have not been invited? Shaking it off, she allowed herself a brief flicker of a smile at the sheer absurdity of such creatures.

She was late, she quickly realised. Already she could hear voices raised in nasty tones. There was nothing for it but to go straight in.

Every head turned in her direction as the tall Harad woman strode forward.


End file.
